The angels bring my dreams
by mice8cheese
Summary: Loosing both parents. Being left with no one. That's tough for anyone. But when your dad's shooter is after you, and you can't communicate with others...that's a little worse than tough.
1. The crowded street, his playground

Casper Antony Phillips spent the first four years of his life in Cambridgeshire, being raised by his single mother.

He had no extended family. No wacky aunts or uncles. No loving grandparents. No father figure. Just his mum.

One car accident changed that. With no English family, and limited prospects of permanent foster placement, Casper's social worker spent the better part of a month finding Casper's biological father, a network technician in the US navy.

Cpl Richard A. Mattherson had no prior knowledge of his son, and even less of an idea on how to raise a son. Especially one like Casper.

With some help, the pair had made it work. Just. It had been one year and forty eight days since Casper had first met his dad.

Now, Mattherson last on the floor of his front room, two slugs piercing his forehead.


	2. A puddle in a vacant lot, his sea

Timothy McGee lay asleep at his desk, softly snoring.

'Should we not wake him?' Ziva asked as Tony slowly approached the junior agent.

'Not yet' Tony removed the cap from his sharpie and began to draw on McGee's forehead.

'Do you know for what reason he would burn the midnight wax?'

DiNozzo shook his head and smiled as he snapped the lid back on the pen.

'It's oil, Ziva' Gibbs entered the bullpen with a sweeping motion.

He paused to look at DiNozzo's handiwork and half smiled, 'You know 'stupid' has an 'I' in it, right?'

DiNozzo smiled sheepishly and braced himself for the...SMACK!

McGee's phone rang, startling the agent. He grabbed the receiver and listened, only murmuring the occasional yes or okay. When he placed the phone down he looked over to his boss.

'What have you got McGee?' Gibbs finished his coffee and threw the empty cup in the bin.

'A dead technician, sir.'


	3. Poor little orphan boy

'What have we got Ducky?' Gibbs stood by the doorway.

'Whoever did this knew what he was doing, Jethro.'

'How so?'

'The murderer shot from about where you are standing. Two bullets one above each eye. The first shot killed him instantly, the second could have been to emphasize the hatred, or could have been to fill some desire of symmetry in the murder, but it certainly was not an accident.' Dr Mallard looked on with disgust.

Gibbs sighed, before turning to his team. 'DiNozzo, shoot and sketch, McGee dust for prints and look for bullet casings, Ziva go talk to the woman who called this in.' Gibbs turned to speak with the first officer attending. 'Did you check the rest of the building?'

'No sir, my orders were to wait for NCIS and stay out the way.'

Gibbs grunted and walked out of the front room into the living room. He flicked the light switch and quickly assessed the room, finding nothing of immediate interest. He was about to leave and check the kitchen when he heard a quiet whimper. His hand immediately went to his gun as he approached the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from behind the sofa. Gibbs peered cautiously over the top and was surprised to see a small boy with his fingers in his ears, rocking backwards and forwards.

Removing his hand from his gun, Gibbs walked round to the side of the sofa and sat crossed legged on the carpeted floor. He unclipped his badge from his belt and held it out in front of the boy. 'My name is Jethro. What's yours?'

'What's yours' the boy said quietly. It sounded like a statement rather than a question.

'Leroy Jethro Gibbs' Gibbs repeated, clipping his badge back onto his belt.

'Casper Antony Phillips.' the boy answered. He had stopped rocking, and his hands lay in his lap, although it was shaking a lot.

'Hello Casper.'

'Casper.' The boy repeated.

'Casper' Gibbs said again. The boy nodded.

'Will you come with me please Casper.' He asked.

The boy stared at his feet and nodded. Gibbs stood, groaning as his knees clicked. He offered the boy his hand, but the kid just stood with his fists clenched, waiting for Gibbs to move. He was still staring at his feet.

Gibbs led the kid through the hall, carefully blocking the view of the front room where Ducky was still working with the body.

They stopped at the front door so the kid could put his shoes on. When he finished, he stood up straight and looked approximately at Gibbs knees.

Gibbs opened the door and led the boy, under the police tape, over to his car. Opening a rear door, he asked the boy to sit down and wait for a minute.

When he returned from speaking to another adult, Gibbs crouched down so he was at eye level with the boy.

'Casper, I have a friend who would like to talk to you. He wants to know whether you are hurt. Is that okay?' Casper nodded.

Gibbs called over a gentleman whom he had gone and talked with.

'Hello there, Casper. My name is Dr. Mallard.' The man said.

'Mallard.' Casper repeated. 'Duck!'

'That precisely correct, my good boy.' The man's face changed so that his lips curved upwards at each side.

Casper looked to where Gibbs had been stood, only to realized that he had left. He searched the faces near his dad's house, trying to spot the man, but could not see him anywhere.

What he did see, and hear, was a large group of people emerging from his dad's front door. They were talking loudly, and some of them seemed to be carrying a large black bag.

As he tried to find Gibbs he found the sound of talking intensify to the point where he could not understand the words if the man stood talking to him. The bright sunlight and distracting flashing from some of the vehicles made his head hurt and everything felt wrong. Everything he could see seemed to be moving back and forth and side to side. He closed his eyes and stuck his fingers in his ears and began to rock backwards and forwards. Trying to make it stop. He felt someone try to touch him and then he didn't feel anything.

Ducky had been trying to ask if anything hurt, in an attempt to determine whether the boy had been injured.

He observed that the boy wasn't paying attention, and tried calling his name a few times, but to no result.

Then the boy stuck his fingers in his ears and started rocking. From what Jethro had told him, he assumed that this was not personal. The boy then seemed to lose consciousness.

'Ducky! What happened?' Gibbs came running over from where he had been briefing his team.

'I'm afraid you child is unconscious.' Ducky bent down and placed a hand on the boys forehead.

'Why? Whats wrong with him? Give me something to work with here, Ducky'

'Without a thorough investigation I cannot say for certain, however I do have something of a leading theory.'

'What sort of theory'

The two word response raised a lot of questions, but an awful lot more answers.


End file.
